


Want To Grab A Pint?

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bad Flirting, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Eventual Molly Hooper/Greg Lestrade, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluffy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Lestrade Is Bad At Flirting, Male-Female Friendship, Marriage Proposal, Romantic Fluff, mentions of manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7411283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts with the offer to grab a friendly pint together after work. What it leads up to is more than either of them ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want To Grab A Pint?

**Author's Note:**

> So this is another fic written to cheer up a member of the Sherlock fandom, this time being **stbartshooper** who had asked for " _how about something like molly and lestrade are friends to lovers trope thing? It starts as the two of them meeting up together to complain and relax at the bar and then it turns to a strong bond then then LOVE!!!!!!! and they are happy all the time ok_ " There is one _tiny_ bit of angst that has to do with a bit of info I found out about via Tumblr (that Molly and Moriarty apparently _did_ do the deed) but generally I'm under the impression she didn't know who he really was and she'd be pissed when she found out and Lestrade would offer to kick his arse over it, and that's the scenario that plays out in the fic. If that's something you find upsetting (hence the "mentions of manipulation" tag), **please skip this fic**.

“Dr. Hooper, right?”

Molly looked up at the voice in her morgue. It was her first day and already she wasn’t sure she wanted there to be a second. She’d had her fill of pushy detectives and the one who wasn’t even a detective, attractive as he had been, had been an unmitigated arse. But this man...he seemed kind. He had gentle eyes and a warm smile and he seemed...well, _decent_. Still, best to be on her guard. “Yes?” she said, a bit guardedly.

“DI Lestrade,” he said, holding out a hand. She held hers up, covered in a bloody glove, and he gave her a sheepish look. It was that look that caused her to relax. He really wasn’t like the rest, which was rather a nice change of pace. “I, uh, came by to apologize for my consultant. Sherlock Holmes? He knicked my ID and tried impersonating me, and I should kick his arse for that three ways to Sunday. Not the best first impression one wants to make, even if I wasn’t the one making it.”

She chuckled a bit at that. “Oh, I caught it right away, don’t worry. I politely but firmly told him when the _real_ DI Lestrade came by then _he_ could get his results.” She nodded towards the refrigeration unit. “Do you want them now?”

He glanced at his wrist. “It’s about time for your shift to end, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” she said. “You need them. I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do,” he said. “How about you tell me over a pint at Ye Olde Mitre?”

She grinned at that. “Isn’t that a bit...irregular?”

“So is using Holmes as a consultant,” he said with a grin. “But I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

She laughed at that. “Deal.”

**\---**

Molly rubbed the back of her neck. It had been a long day, and it didn’t help that she’d rather embarrassed herself in front of Sherlock. _Again._ She had a terrible habit of that. It was getting to be something of a sore spot in her life. But at least she had something to keep her occupied at the moment, these suspicious suicides that Sherlock was convinced were _not_ suicides.

She heard the doors to the morgue open and then a moment later Greg hauled himself into her office, looking absolutely knackered. She winced, having seen the press conference that morning and saw the disaster that was. “You look like you could use a drink,” she said.

“Try several,” he said, running a hand over his face. “Was he right? It’s not suicide?”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “It’s looking like he is,” she said.

Lestrade groaned. “Bloody hell.”

She got out of her chair and came over, sitting next to him on her desk next to where he was on the edge. “Providing nothing goes wonky tonight, and if _she_ isn’t going to rip your throat out, Viaduct Tavern? You need more than a pint.”

He nodded. “Even if she does, I don’t care. It’s not like we’re carrying on behind her back. I mean, I think she is behind _mine_ , but...”

She put an arm around his shoulders. “Oh, Greg.”

He leaned his head against hers. “No one wants to be married to a copper. Fact of life. It’s the worst life to lead.”

“No, that’s just an excuse,” she said. “She’s a cunt.”

“Molly!” he said, his tone shocked.

“Well, she is. You’re a brilliant, loving, kind man. I knew that the minute I met you. And if she can’t see it, she’s an idiot.”

“Thanks.”

**\---**

“So how was Dimmock?” Lestrade asked with a grin days after Molly helped Sherlock out with a case involving Chinese assassins, or at least that’s what she’d read according to John’s blog. That was how she found out the particulars of the cases her autopsies were involved in when Sherlock was part of a case, which was rather fascinating. She was becoming quite the fan.

“Decent, I suppose,” she said, picking up her pint at Magpie and Stump. She’d wanted a decent ale and a good meal because it had been a frustrating day and Greg had said he had known just the place. He had a surprising gift for picking good places for them to get their pints at, she’d found. They were often the highlight of her week. “How was your break from Sherlock?”

“Delightfully refreshing,” he said with a grin. “I like him, I am thankful for the help he gives, don’t get me wrong, but he can be an unmitigated arse sometimes.”

“Though he has his moments,” she said, looking down.

Greg was quiet for a moment. “You really do fancy him, don’t you?” he said.

“It’s silly, isn’t it?” she said, turning red.

“I don’t think it’s silly,” he said. “I just don’t want to see you hurt. You’re a good woman, Molly. Honestly, you’re a better woman than Sherlock could ever hope to deserve. I mean, you’re a better woman than _I_ could ever hope to deserve and I think I’ve been a pretty good bloke.”

She looked up, grinning at him. “You really think so?” she asked.

He nodded. “Don’t hang all your hopes up on Sherlock,” he said. “Try and be with someone who makes you happy. You deserve that, you really do.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Greg.”

**\---**

She felt horrid. She had scrubbed herself raw under the hottest shower she could stand when Sherlock told her and yet she didn’t really think she could get clean. Oh, he had fooled her and she felt so...so…

She didn’t know who else to call so she had dialed Greg. He had been at home and she could hear his wife harping in the background but he’d said he’d be over in a minute. He had shown up quickly and she’d wondered if he’d put sirens on, and as soon as he was there she couldn’t stand to be at her home. He’d waited for her to get dressed in proper clothing and bundled her off in his car to The Fence and gotten her the strongest drink they had and led her out to the garden area. He hadn’t had to ask why; she was sure Sherlock had filled him in on who Jim really was, and he’d put two and two together.

She was halfway done with her third drink when she finally spoke. “He didn’t have to shag me,” she said, her tone bitter.

Greg nodded, still on his first drink. “Probably all the better to twist the knife,” he said.

“It was a dick move,” she said. “And it wasn’t even a good shag!”

The corner of Greg’s mouth twitched. “Somehow that makes me feel better,” he said. He looked over at her drink. “If I catch him, I’ll kick his arse for you. I don’t think Sherlock will, not for that.”

“Sherlock will never know,” she said adamantly. “Not from me, and not from you.”

“Lips are sealed,” he said with a nod. He had some more of his drink. “I’ll kick him in the bollocks first. With steel toed boots. Promise.”

“Good,” she said.

**\---**

The call after doing Irene Adler’s autopsy was unexpected. She’d just wanted to go home and curl up and have a good cry, but she held back her tears and answered it when she saw it was Greg. He’d had a pretty miserable time at the party too, with Sherlock’s mean-spirited deduction. “Hey,” she said.

“I don’t know what pubs are open tonight at this time of night, but I’m thinking we could both use a drink,” he said.

“Doubt anything is open now,” she said. “But I have a nice stash of liquor at my place?”

There was a pause. “Probably not the best of ideas. Not that I wouldn’t mind, but things could happen.”

That surprised her. “Oh,” she said quietly. She hadn’t thought he might think of her that way. She hadn’t thought of him that way, not really. Not _often_ at least. He was Greg, he was her friend, one of her best mates. Maybe a fleeting thought every once in a while, but nothing more than that. But to know maybe he thought of her like that was...interesting. “Do you want to stop by the hospital and see what’s open?”

“I could do that,” he said. “I mean, if you want to. You don’t have to. I know Sherlock’s words hurt you pretty badly, and then to have to do the autopsy tonight...”

“No, a drink sounds like a good idea,” she said, her tone overly bright to hide any conflicting feelings she might be having. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay? Out in front of the hospital?”

“All right. See you soon,” he said before hanging up. She lowered her mobile, looking at it. This could be interesting, if it went anywhere. He was a good man. She’d have to wait and see.

**\---**

Oh, she hated keeping this secret, she did. She wanted to tell him, to ease his pain and guilt, but she couldn’t. Damn Sherlock for putting her in this position.

The pints had slowly lessened in frequency before stopping altogether. It had been a long time since she’d spent time with Greg outside of her functions as a pathologist on loan to Scotland Yard. And she missed it, she did. She’d started a relationship with someone to get her mind off the burden she carried but really, even she could see he was just a substitute for Sherlock and really, it was kind of pathetic.

She stared at her mobile, tapping the corner on her desk. She missed Greg. It had hit her out of the blue this morning how much she missed talking to him, how much she missed just being around him. And she was resolved to do something about it. She wasn’t sure he would accept a call, but...perhaps a text?

She was just starting to tap out a message when he doors opened and in walked the man himself. “Greg!” she said, surprised. “Do I have a body of yours?”

He nodded. “Leticia Harrison,” he said. “It was thought to be a drowning but it looked suspicious?”

“I can get you the results right away,” she said, glancing at the clock on the wall. Five minutes till the end of her shift. “Maybe we can go over them at Ye Olde Mitre?”

She watched as a smile formed at the corner of his mouth, slowly spreading upwards. “Yeah, I think I would like that. It’s a bit unorthodox, but I’ve been told I’m kind of an unorthodox DI.”

“That’s a good thing to hear,” she said, her heart feeling lighter for the first time in ages.

**\---**

They were at The Fox and Anchor celebrating Sally’s promotion to Detective Inspector and the mood was rather joyful. Molly was quite happy for her friend and Greg was equally happy for his protegee, and after a time the two of them moved away from the hubbub and found a cozy place to sit with a bit more privacy.

“Did you ever think this day would come?” she asked, taking a sip of her pint before setting it down on the table.

“I did, yeah,” he said with a nod, glancing over at Sally. “She’s bright and determined. I was just worried the taint with Sherlock would have ruined things, but she proved herself. She deserves it.” He took a sip. “Too bad Philip went off the deep end.”

“That was a shame,” she said quietly. She knew he was right, but she also knew she had to change the subject. “You know, congratulations to you, too. You’re officially a single man again.”

He lifted up his left hand, looking at his ringless finger. “Feels a bit strange.”

“But good?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Feels good.” He hesitated a moment, then reached over with his hand for one of hers. “It might feel better if I wasn’t _alone_ , though.”

She was surprised for a moment, and then threaded her fingers in between his. “I don’t think you have to be alone, Greg. I can think of someone who would like to enjoy your company on a more regular basis.”

“Would her name start with Doctor and end with Molly Hooper?” he asked, a wide grin on his face.

She laughed. “Oh, that is so corny,” she said, hanging her head. Then she looked up at him, wide grin on her face. “But yes, it would.”

“Then it worked brilliantly.”

**\---**

Molly had been invited to go to The Old Red Cow with a few mates from work and they’d said to invite her boyfriend, too. Boyfriend. She got a wide grin on her face every time she got to refer to Greg in that way, or someone else referred to him in such a way. It was amazing how ecstatic such a simple term made her feel.

They’d stayed there with pints until the bar was nearly closing, talking about nearly everything under the sun, with her curled up against Greg as the crowd she’d come with slowly started to dwindle. It had been a pleasant evening and she’d had a grand time, but she didn’t want it to end. And soon it was last call, and they were the only ones left.

“I suppose we should head out,” he said, looking over at her.

“We could go to my place,” she suggested tentatively. “I mean, if you don’t think that’s too forward.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She nodded. “I would like that. Do you have to go to work tomorrow?”

“Not unless someone gets killed and I get picked to go,” he said.

“So you’ll be there in the morning?” she asked.

He leaned in and kissed her softly. She liked the way he kissed her, with all the tenderness in the world, but with an underlying hint of passion that left her wanting more, hoping that when the passion exploded it was overwhelming and breathtaking. Somehow she doubted she would be disappointed as this kiss took her to the very edge and inched her further than she had been with him before. When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers. “I suppose we should head back to your flat now,” he said.

“Okay,” she replied.

**\---**

There were plans to meet John and his new girlfriend at The Paternoster, but she was so very tempted to cancel and stay in bed with Greg all day. It wasn’t very often they got a day off together, even in the last nine months that they’d been dating. But no, she would be a good friend because John seemed quite serious about Mary and she really wanted to meet her.

She roused herself in bed to see Greg looking down at her with a smile. “What time is it?” she asked, stretching slightly.

“Half past four,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “Bloody hell, we’re supposed to be there in a half hour!” she said.

“I already told John we’ll be late,” he said, moving his hand. It was only then she registered there was something _in_ his hand. An open ring box.

An open ring box with an engagement ring in it.

She sat up more and looked at the beautiful diamond and amethyst ring set in silver lacework with wide eyes before looking at him. “Greg...”

“There’s this great quote I heard once from Dostoyevsky. ‘You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again.’ And I think that’s us. Maybe we were healed and able to come back again because of each other.” He plucked the ring out of the box and slid it onto her finger. “Molly, please say you’ll marry me. You would make me the happiest man in the world if you would.”

“I...” she said, not sure what to say.

“If it’s about Sherlock, his brother already told me he’s alive,” he said. “So just say yes.”

She blinked, and then gave him a wide smile. “Yes! Absolutely.”

“Good,” he said with a grin of his own.

**\---**

The engagement party was held at The Williamsons Tavern, and the unexpected guest of honour was Sherlock, who'd arrived back a few days prior. It had helped that Greg knew he was alive when he'd proposed, that she hadn't had to keep it a secret any longer, but no one had actually _expected_ him to show up out of the blue.

John had grumbled a bit that they’d stolen the thunder of his own engagement, though Sherlock’s arrival in London had mucked that up as well, but to be quite honest, Molly was so happy she didn’t mind. She honestly felt like she was on cloud nine, like she was walking on air. For the first time in ages she felt as though all was right in her world, and it was all Greg’s doing.

After mingling with everyone and enjoying good food and good ales and spirits, Geg cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. Their friends were all taking up the outdoor seating at the establishment, and so there was some ambient noise, but it was all right. “It’s been a long time coming since the first time I stepped into Barts morgue to apologize for a certain consultant trying to sully my name by being an arrogant arse and ruining what could have been my first impression, but here we are, years later, engaged to be married,” he said. “And I couldn’t be happier.”

He looked down at her and she looked back up, and she saw the same gentle eyes and warm smile she’d seen all those years ago, but with love radiating there as well. “I love you, Margaret Adeline Hooper, and I will love you for the rest of my days.”

“I’ll love you that long, too,” she said, and she meant every word.


End file.
